Toilet Protocol & Timelines: Tales from Rural Banking

When I joined the bank over four decades ago, my induction was marked by the usual excitement: official postings, transfers, and the anticipation of branching out, literally. One such posting took me to a rural branch, 80kms from the district HQ, in Gulbarga as the Branch Head. I imagined a smooth handover, perhaps a few days to settle in and understand the pulse of the place.

Wishful thinking.

The outgoing Branch Head had left five months earlier. The two officers holding fort were just waiting for me to relieve them so they could head back to their families after their rural assignments. And I, green but eager, was expected to manage everything alone, right from day one.

When I asked my controller for just one officer to stay back for a week, he said, “You’ve been specially identified for your ability to handle critical situations.” Gas, if ever I heard any.

I was also told that another officer would join me within a week. Compliance needed to respect “time norms” after all. Irony? The branch had been run by two officers for five months, suddenly this rule kicked in now! But such was the system, and I was learning the ropes of rural banking the hard way.

On my second day, while juggling customers and burrowing into ledgers, a messenger whispered urgently: “Phone call from controlling office.” No mobiles then, so it meant a landline call, important by default.

The voice at the other end was sharp. Several returns, monthly and quarterly, were overdue, and I was instructed to submit them that very day. This was news to me. Coming from Bangalore’s Computers and Communications Department, I had next to no exposure to rural reporting formats. These returns had apparently been pending for months.

When I explained the situation, I was told: “Since the branch was without a head for five months, you must make up for lost time.” I took a deep breath and asked who was speaking. The tone changed. A clerk, overzealous and without context. The call was passed to someone I knew, and the deadlines were quickly (and mercifully) made realistic. That clerk never called me again.

Six months later, I’d gained confidence. I understood the people, the place, and the peculiarities of running a two-officer rural branch. One morning, just after opening, my Regional Manager (RM) called. "The Chief General Manager(a lady), the ultimate head of Karnataka operations, is visiting your branch in three hours."

I assured him all was fine. Books balanced, operations tight. His reply: “Keep the premises tidy. Especially the toilets.”

Fifteen minutes later, another call. Same instruction, more emphasis on the restroom.

Five minutes later, yet another call. This time I couldn’t resist. “Sir, is the primary purpose of her visit to use the toilet?”

He chuckled. “You’ll understand these things when you rise in the ranks.”

We spent the next couple of hours gleaming the office, sparkling bathroom included. The inspection never happened. She’d gone straight to Gulbarga. Five branches must’ve lost at least half a day preparing for an event that never arrived.

But hey, on the bright side, we had some of the cleanest toilets in Karnataka that morning.



Stories, not instructions. Experiences, not advice—medical or otherwise. Data, only what the internet quietly gathers anyway. Proceed with equal parts curiosity and common sense.

Comments

  1. AnonymousNovember 19, 2025 at 6:39 AM

    Great. Most times, only this would happen. All hyped & built up. Anyway, in a lighter vein Amar, I was remembering the once famous Amar Chitra Katha Comics during my childhood days. Today I Iam reading another Amar Chitra Katha, of course, picturising the events in my mind as we are grown up enough. Keep writing. 😊🫶

    ReplyDelete
  2. AmarNovember 19, 2025 at 10:41 AM

    Absolutely, Seshadri!! Thanks

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Credits, Close-Ups, and Collateral Damage

Image
With my dear friend and the artist Mr Sridhar Comaravalli His click 👇 The morning had already done its part, cool breeze, a reasonably disciplined jog, and the quiet satisfaction of having earned the impending indulgence of our breakfast ritual. As I slowed down near the lake, I was joined by a friend of over three decades, an artist of some repute, a cartoonist with a sharp eye for irony, and a photographer with an even sharper eye for detail. The lake, for him, was less about walking and more about waiting, waiting for the perfect bird, the most obliging butterfly, or an occasionally vain peacock to strike a pose. He had just wrapped up his morning’s “shoot,” while I had just about wrapped up my morning’s “struggle,” and together we waited for our third accomplice before proceeding to the more serious business of breakfast. It was during this interlude that he showed me a caricature, sent to him by someone, originally created by a well-known artist, but forwa...
Read more

Of Numbers, Notions, and a Timely Dosa

Today, after more than a couple of months, our core group of three finally reassembled at our morning headquarters, the Doddakalsandra Lake, with my artist friend, Sridhar, making a guest appearance.  The artist, as always, operates on a schedule known only to him and possibly a higher creative authority. Our lake features only after he has completed his circuit of other lakes, presumably ensuring that every bird, butterfly, and peacock in South Bangalore has been duly acknowledged before he graces our lake. Of the remaining three, one, after a long stint in the Middle East, has retired to take up farming recently near Mysore and has been busy with his annual harvest.  The other had been engaged in hospital rounds for a friend. Between crops and care, the quorum had clearly been at the mercy of real life. As is our long-established protocol, we arrive at different times depending on whether we are feeling athletic, ambitious, or merely present. Yet, almost miraculously, we con...
Read more

The Reluctant Sleeper

I had been a faculty member at the Bank’s training institutes, two years at the State Level and five years at the National Level. The training groups consisted of all categories of staff at the State Level, clerical and officers, while at the National Level, it was exclusively officers. The training centres were all residential, which meant participants stayed on campus, having come from different parts of the State or the Country. Each program had a coordinator who was responsible for preparing the training calendar, getting it approved, conveying the institute’s expectations to the participants during their stay, and addressing any concerns they might have. Typically, there were four sessions of an hour and a half each, two before lunch and two after, with a 30-minute tea or coffee break (and the inevitable biscuits) between each pair of sessions. During 2003–04, at one such State Level training centre in Bangalore, I was the coordinator for a week-long program for Probationary Offic...
Read more